


fear of more like jumping (force multiplier mix)

by frogfarm



Series: Alias: Hellcat [1]
Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Challenge Response, Comfort Sex, Community: femslash_kink, F/F, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Leather, Light Dom/sub, Mock Incest, Phone Sex, Pining, Play Fighting, Porn with Feelings, Roleplay, Sneaking Around, Testing Powers, Training, Vaginal Fisting, blatant disregard for continuity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5420426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trish tantalizes. Jessica gives in.</p><p>Post 1x13, "Smile".</p><p>Jessica POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fear of more like jumping (force multiplier mix)

**Author's Note:**

> My own personal 'twelve memes of kink' challenge. I was already writing this piece when I started scanning this [prompt list](https://femslash-kink.dreamwidth.org/15813.html), and quickly started making a list of how many kinks I thought I could work in. Some are stronger/more consistent than others, natch.
> 
> "But at least we know that it's all in a good cause."
> 
>  
> 
> **The Dirty Dozen: Leather, phone sex, pining, combat training, play fighting, mock incest, roleplay, sneaking around so Dorothy doesn't hear them, Jessica in subspace, young women testing the limits of Jessica's powers, dom!Trish, comfort sex**
> 
>  
> 
> **Bonus/warnings: Alcohol abuse, implied/referenced rape/non-con, blatant disregard for continuity**

" _Are you coming over?_ "

Jessica shifts position on the fire escape, denim chafing her thighs. The precarious perch doesn't make it any easier to ignore the signals that voice sends from her phone to her ear into the rest of her body.

"I'm working."

" _Give me a break, sis._ "

The seldom-used address comes easier to Trish when she wants to twist Jessica's arm. This is not at all that. Still, it gives Jessica pause.

"Have you been popping reds again? And I don't mean downers."

" _So I need to be doing drugs to want to see my sister._ "

There it is again, with ten percent less snark. Something is definitely up.

" _Are you ever going to say it?_ " Trish sounds determined rather than pathetic and pleading, which is going to make this conversation harder to avoid.

"Sure." Jessica takes a deep, loud and obvious breath. "Yes, I'm still pissed that I had to plead temporary insanity to avoid a murder charge and thereby win the fight for the free agency of women everywhere."

A knowing sigh. " _It's over now. You can be done fighting him._ "

She's still wound up beyond belief, and nothing would make her happier than to snap back. Except she remembers Trish picking her up after she was released from jail; how long it took her to raise her arms and return that embrace, like they were broken beyond repair.

"We won the war, right?" She manages a shrug Trish can't see. "Hooray for our side."

" _I talked to Malcolm._ "

There's a new flavor of anger, or disappointment. "And he told you I wasn't working any new cases."

" _He told me you're still going through a fifth of vodka every night._ "

Rather than gritting her teeth, Jessica rolls her eyes. "I have a high tolerance."

" _You may have super muscles, but organs are another story._ " The steel in that voice sharpens further still. " _If you're looking to find out whose liver can take more abuse? I'm happy to concede._ "

"Trish --"

" _I miss you._ " And now Trish is doing it. Not the big eyes ploy, which works just as well over the phone, but the one where she makes Jessica want to be worthy of what her sister has turned into.

"Trying to be my hero?" She manages to make it sound almost neutral. "Quit trying so hard."

" _Cut the crap, Jewel._ "

The old appellation puts Jessica on full alert, quickening the sudden keen pound of her heart. She can't remember the last time Trish called her by that name, and the rusty railing groans in her grasp as a flood of memories come rushing back. At least most of these are neutral. A few are even good. Hence the grasping.

" _It's Monday night and you're skulking around rooftops pretending to work and playing Peeping Thomasina. Not to mention mooning over Power Man._ "

"Wow." The laugh escapes before she can stifle it. "You're mean."

" _Also right._ "

"And controlly."

" _More like suggesty._ " Trish's response comes a tad too quick. " _Still better than avoidy._ "

Jessica leans further out, scanning the rain-slick street below. "Can I bring my own bottle? Or is Trishville a dry county?"

A bitter chuckle. " _Now who's the mean girl?_ "

The apology turns to ash on her tongue. She's never been one to talk pots and kettles, or to avoid dealing with her own considerable issues by using Trish's history against her.

"Hey, at least I didn't call you Mommy Dearest."

" _Once was enough._ " Trish isn't hiding the brittle now; the hard, hurt edge.

"I'm sorry," Jessica says, quieter.

" _Are you coming over?_ "

 

* * *

 

She lands on the balcony with an heavy thud all out of proportion to her size. The lights are on, but no sign of life inside. Before she can change her mind, she hits speed dial, unable to contain a grin of anticipation.

" _Are you fucking _fucking_ with me?_ " Trish emerges from the kitchen holding her phone to one ear, leveling a glare that should melt the window. It doesn't help that she's wearing the sheep pajamas.

Jessica gives a little wave in return. "You trash your mother with that mouth?"

Her friend's sigh of exasperation turns to a chuckle. The rain is coming down harder, and Jessica wiggles the door handle, careful not to pull it right off.

"Come on, quit messing around. I'm freezing out here. Unless you want me doing the undignified dance of the tiny bladder."

" _That one never gets old._ " The smile behind the glass becomes downright calculating. " _If I let you in, you can't leave until sunrise._ "

"God, what is with you tonight?" The wicked note in that voice slithers down Jessica's belly, sends ripples straight to her groin and all surrounding areas. Makes it a real struggle to maintain the tough girl facade as Trish returns her stare.

She can't resist a note of mockery. "You want me to wear the costume again?"

" _Actually, _Jewel__ \--" Trish steps up close, right on the other side of the sliding door so Jessica can hear directly, not just through the phone. She doesn't look scary mad, but her tone is dead serious. " _I was just wondering what the hell you were doing running around flaunting your powers like this. Exposing your secret identity._ "

Jessica blinks. She's not often truly struck dumb.

" _What?_ " A note of challenge, as Trish raises an incredulous eyebrow. " _Don't tell me you got hit with another amnesia ray._ "

Her mouth and brain are being indecisive, any possible response frozen on the verge of becoming speech. What's keeping her from voicing them are the memories of way back when. Maybe not innocent -- never that -- but a time when Trish didn't just call her by that name, but even seemed to take it seriously. When they could both still treat it like some kind of game.

Fuck it. Kilgrave is dead, by her hand. She won't let his ghost ruin one more minute of her life.

"I took the rooftops." She squares her shoulders, returning that hard stare. "All the way."

" _Thought you got here fast._ " The businesslike demeanor gives way to a grin of surprise and delight. " _Seriously? You flew all the way here?_ "

"Still more like jumping." Jessica gives an embarrassed shrug. Trish relents, opening the door and pulling her inside.

"This is great." Trish pockets her phone, looking -- not precisely grim. More sober. Pun intended. "It's not a bad thing."

She's been here before, too many times. "But?"

"But it's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about."

She shrugs her coat off into waiting hands. Trish gives a disapproving click of her tongue at the sight of the thin T-shirt underneath.

"And you officially lose all right to complain. No wonder you're freezing."

"How much colder would I have been in that costume?" Jessica grabs the afghan from the couch, wrapping it around her shivering frame.

No response is forthcoming, and she looks up to another surprise. Instead of hanging Jessica's coat in the closet, or throwing it on the couch, Trish is slipping into the scuffed and beaten leather as though it's always been hers; returning her friend's surprise with a casual defiance, somewhat offset by the sheep still visible adorning her pajama bottoms. The domineering attitude is further accentuated by her hair, pulled back in a single severe French braid that hugs the contour of her skull.

"You know what your problem is?" Trish sounds more conversational than confrontational.

"I can't wait to hear the latest." Jessica spreads her hands, palms up. "Surprise me."

"You never learned how to fight." Trish holds up a hand of her own to forestall any argument. "Even after all this time, you're still using brute strength to compensate for lack of skill."

Normally this is where Jessica makes a defensive comment to deflect, but she's too busy being fascinated by the Long Trish Goodnight. Among other things.

"I don't want to see you get hurt," Trish continues. "Or for you to hurt someone else who doesn't deserve it."

_Rena's blank look of surprise as the blow lifts her off her feet. Flying away in slow motion, light vanishing from empty eyes..._

Jessica shivers under the afghan, but her gaze doesn't falter. "I'd never hurt you."

Trish stares back, equally adamant. "I'd never let you."

 

* * *

 

_"You're hurting me!"_

_"Don't be a baby! Keep pushing -- there!" Trish emerges triumphant from the liquor cabinet, swaying atop Jessica's shoulders._

_"Hold still." Trish's commanding tone softens, but not by much. "I drop this, and we're both in deep shit."_

_"You're gonna put it back?" Jessica cranes her neck, trying to gauge the level in the bottle._

_"She'll notice if it's gone."_

_"She'll notice more if some of it's gone." Pleased with this logic, Jessica reaches up and wiggles her fingers. "Gimme."_

_"Let me down."_

_"You first."_

_"No, you --" Trish's ultimatum ends in a shriek as Jessica tosses her across the room into the beanbag chair, then joins her with one mighty leap. Her foster sister flails and sputters with barely contained outrage, trying to push the hair from her eyes. Jess grabs the bottle before she can fight back._

_The only advantage of lemon Stoli is that it doesn't taste like cough syrup. Still, the first shot makes Jessica feel like her head is shriveling in on itself._

_Trish pours another, with a rare and devilish smile. "It gets better."_

_The second is fiery ice down her gullet and makes her think of dish detergent. She's starting to wonder if she's immune to alcohol when she realizes she can feel a line from her brain to her stomach, uncoiling the knots of tension that have become a constant presence ever since she moved in. This is good; this is why grownups drink._

_After the third, they start making up new names for Dorothy. Jessica laughs so hard she inhales Stoli down her windpipe, and Trish freaks out because she doesn't know the right maneuver thing. She recovers fast; Trish doesn't, and naturally goes off on another one of her rants about being useless. Jess waits for her to run down, then says it's too bad they aren't twins so they could switch places._

_"Then we'd both have to be on the show." Trish may scoff, but at least she's smiling. "The Patsy Duke Show. You'd hate every minute."_

_"I could so be a star," Jessica insists. She never watched It's Patsy! growing up, and though she sort-of knew the other girl's face from countless magazine covers, she has only the vaguest awareness of Trish as this huge celebrity. The pre-teen queen of every boy's dreams._

_"Your face would shatter the first time you had to smile for the camera."_

_Jessica knows it's true. "Gimme another."_

_The fourth makes her realize she's been looking at the afternoon sunlight coming through Trish's hair, and she reacts by trying to distract both of them with an impromptu test of her powers. Trish manages to stop her before she inflicts much in the way of property damage, but now it's Jessica's turn to be sullen and retreat. That's all she fucking needs: Patsy Walker, idol of millions, looking at her in disgust and horror. And Dorothy, the Wicked Witch of the East Coast; smiling in triumph, all her worst theories confirmed._

_The fifth makes her sober up enough to measure what vodka remains. Trish is still pounding it back like a biker's old lady, but Jessica's thinking if she continues it'll end up coming right back out. She's struggling with how to convey this without sounding like a complete wuss, and it doesn't help that her gaze keeps stealing back down to Trish-titties, cute and round beneath the other girl's blouse, silently calling her name._

_Her salvation arrives in the form of Dorothy, back early from a fresh round of negotiations with the network. Jessica stands tall in the face of adversity, weathering the storm of suspicion and accusation, ends up taking the heat for everything over Trish's protests. As if she'd tied Trish up and forced liquor down her throat. Not like it requires much convincing._

_Some people are always ready to believe the worst._

 

* * *

 

She returns from the flashback to find Trish sitting next to her, perched on the edge of the couch.

"When I took those pills. When I fought Simpson -- don't get me wrong. " Trish looks to be measuring her words more carefully. "I might not have been able to take him down without you. But that's not the point."

Jessica tries not to fidget; tries not to wish for a drink in her hand. "I assume you're getting to it."

"He knew that I knew how to fight. He remembered how hard he had to work, when Kilgrave sent him after me -- and I _still_ caught him off guard." She takes a deep breath, shaking her head to dispel the memory. "My point being: You react on instinct. And you don't hold back."

"Not with Luke." It slips out before Jessica can stop herself. Hurts so good to recall the joy she'd felt in his arms, underneath him, riding him to complete exhaustion. The later memories are less fun.

"But with proper training?" Trish continues, calm and relentless. "You could react with the right amount of force for the situation. Or, if you need to -- use your full strength even more effectively."

Jessica tries to think of a suitable sarcastic response. It'll come to her. Eventually.

"You can train with my guy." Trish must have gotten tired of waiting. "He's good."

Jessica groans a little inside. "You know I'm not a people person."

"You don't like change." Trish is finally looking frustrated. It doesn't usually take this long. "Everybody's new people the first time you meet them."

She can think of at least three sarcastic responses, only one of which is suitable. Trish is probably expecting sarcasm. Time for a change in tactics.

"You could teach me."

Trish smiles, but she's shaking her head. "I'm nowhere near qualified."

Jessica resists the urge to slide into lottery voice. "Not even just to start?"

"Sorry." Trish looks regretful but firm. "You might pick up bad habits. And neither of us would realize until it was too late."

Inspiration strikes. "I thought we were trying not to blow my cover."

Trish opens her mouth, then appears to consider this. Could even perhaps be said to be wavering.

She will not bat her lashes.

"Please?"

 

* * *

 

_The first time Trish tries to kiss her, Jessica nearly breaks the furniture. And not in a good way. No, the uber-depressed foster kid of course has to go into psychotic freakout mode; scrambles backward like the couch is on fire, turns and runs from the room like a big fat chicken._

_Trish explains later that she isn't mad. Well, actually she is, but --_

_"I thought you were drunk."_

_"Thanks a lot." Trish looks hurt, but instead of crossing her arms or moving away, she takes another step closer. Invading personal space is not something either of them are known for._

_Jessica swallows the lump in her throat, realizing her palms are sweaty. Thought that was a guy thing._

_"Are you trying to get back at her?"_

_Trish's eyes flash lightning, her face darkening with stormclouds. "Fuck her."_

_A queer thrill runs up Jess's innards at this unexpected obscenity coming from that squeaky-clean mouth. She doesn't have time to make another sarcastic sex pun. Nor to think at all, as Trish moves in for the kill._

_It doesn't last long; she's too paranoid knowing Dorothy's right down the hall to fully enjoy how Trish smells like bubble gum shampoo, how her kisses intermingle with bites as her hands twine into Jessica's hair, slide down the arch and curve of hip beginning to bloom into ass. Part of her is wondering just where her foster sister picked up these moves, what TV show or movie inspired this (plan of) attack. The rest is thrilled just because, and at the thought of being the first person ever to kiss Patsy Walker this way. Like they're trying to crawl inside each other._

_The second time it's Jess who makes the first move, and it's not out of love but from being so goddamned mad it's the only way she can keep from slapping Trish, reducing the house to a pile of rubble. Trish is being all the bitch that she can be, which is considerable, and they both know they're taking their frustration with Dorothy out on each other. So she grabs Trish, picks her up off the ground like they do all the time for fun, only this time more than ready to shake some sense into her._

_Trish doesn't look scared, just surprised, and Jess remembers how easily she could hurt her sister. Instead she draws her closer, as slow as she can, to emphasize her strength; tries to mimic Trish's hunger in that first kiss, pouring all her need into the quivering, desperate connection between them. Trish moans into her mouth, the awkward groping of her hands at the buttons of Jessica's shirt serving as reminder that both her arms are pinned. Jess can't stop the groan that rises from her own throat and then she squeezes too hard and Trish's gasp is louder, pain registering on her face._

_She nearly drops her, frantic apologies rising to her bruised lips, but Trish is slamming into her, taking them both down to the bed behind them in a heap of tumbling, gangly limbs. The eternity it takes them to unbutton and remove her jeans is enough time to think of all the ways this can go wrong, is wrong, but Trish kisses away her concerns, pulling new sounds from her with each nip of perfect teeth and when she nudges Jessica's legs apart, presses knowing fingers where her underwear stop and thigh begins, those eyes are asking do you want, do you want this, do you want me and maybe they aren't all good reasons why. But the answer is definitely yes._

_The third time is their first night in their new apartment. They alternate between giddy and serious, unpacking boxes and gorging on Chinese takeout while planning the rest of their lives. Trish brings up rehab again, even sounds serious this time, but Jessica's too cautious to be enthusiastic. This is not her first rodeo, and Trish always goes full maudlin when she's trying to be responsible. And maybe Jess does see that weakness and try to take advantage, but the guilt is far outweighed by the pleasure she takes in finally turning the tables._

_Getting to be on top._

 

* * *

 

She leaves her boots in the hall outside, along with her damp socks. Trish is already barefoot as they enter the tiny room that used to be hers, now made over with weight racks and inch-thick padding on the floor.

"One move," Trish stresses. "Because this is the one I've drilled more than any other. The one I know I won't screw up. _One_. No distractions, no sad eyes, no 'oh puhleez Trish'. Deal?"

"Buzzkill." She drapes the afghan over the weights, turning to face the other woman. "Is this where I bow to my sensei?"

Trish's gaze descends, taking in the sights with a raised brow and pursed lips. Jessica feels her traitorous flesh harden further in response. It should make her jealous that Trish fills out her leather better than she does, even though it still makes look the blonde look downright tiny. Also badass.

"Hey, you're the one who took my coat. Don't blame me for the wet T-shirt contest." She cocks an eyebrow of her own. "You gonna give that back?"

Trish's subtle smile is an unmistakable challenge. "Come and get it."

Jess grins back and brings up both fists, holding them loose as she starts to circle around, shuffling her feet as she goes.

"Sweep the leg, Daniel-san." She can't resist the taunt. Trish just smiles an affectionate smile that barely touches the corners of her lips.

The next thing she knows, Jessica's flat on her back.

"You were saying?" Trish looms overhead, an upside down image regarding her fallen foe. "Wouldn't want to interrupt your snappy patter."

She accepts the hand up, not bothering to suppress a begrudging glare. Trish continues as if nothing happened.

"Okay, now I'm gonna slow it down. We'll go in stages. You come in with a weapon, you get within arm's reach -- okay, _one_ the wrist, _two_ the turn and twist, _three_ the takedown. Got it? Okay, we're gonna go again, full speed. Now you. Slow..."

The temperature is rising in the little room, a few more strands of hair escaping from Trish's braid as both of them begin to sweat. The scent of warm leather is driving Jessica almost as crazy as having Trish this close to her, this soft and unyielding, like pliable granite.

"Right here's where most people lose it. See? You need to maintain your grip through the rotation, stay close enough that you don't overextend. But keep that distance open..."

Jessica knows she's feeling better because of the small part of her that wants to abandon any pretense of submission; curl her arm around Trish's neck, take her to the mat and have her way with her, any which way all ways. But she's learning, for a change. Might as well get full value.

"Something on your mind?" Trish feints, then throws a quick jab that almost connects with her cheek. Jessica's instinctive glare slowly turns to a grin of respect.

"You're not here to fight, are you?"

"You're out of breath," Trish notes.

"So are you."

"I'm just having fun. _You_ need to aerobicize." Another feint. This time she doesn't fall for it, and Trish pulls back a followup blow at the last second with an approving nod.

"You think I'm not having fun?" Jess abruptly changes tactics, lowering her head and charging in, fully intent on grabbing her opponent. The elbow to the back of her neck _hurts_ , enough to throw off her aim, and they go down in a struggling heap. Except Trish is already using their momentum against her, turning everything around, once again ending up on top.

"Still having fun?" The strain in her friend's voice isn't the only indicator. Jessica can actually feel the pull of muscle in her shoulder, the pinch of the grip on her wrist. The other woman's body is trembling with exertion, pressed up from behind, pushing her face down into the floor.

"Damn." It comes out almost shaky. Jessica has to turn it into a joke. "You sucking down spinach smoothies or what?"

"With you?" Soft lips ghost the nape of her neck, soothing away the pain. "I don't hold back."

She can't help arching her back into the wet warmth above, the soft grind below.

"Jewel..." Trish's voice is reverent. "You're the only one. The only one who sees me..."

"Kinda hard to see you at the moment." It comes out snarkier than intended, but Trish is easing up, giving her room to maneuver. Or squirm rather, turn around in her grasp to gaze up into her captor's eyes.

Trish swallows and reaches out, laying a tentative hand on her cheek. "How about now?"

Jessica can't think of a single reason to be sappy. Other than the obvious.

Fuck it.

"They'd have to be blind not to see you."

Obviously this was the right answer; Trish descends with a hum, nuzzling the throbbing points of her chest through the damp fabric, right over the fine line of pleasure to pain. Jessica inhales in a hiss, exhales in slow, shaky stages as her legs seem to part of their own volition, slowly wrapping around Trish's waist.

"All they see is Patsy. But you..." Already Trish is pulling up her shirt, latching on with hard suction, gentle pinches and strokes of her fingers keeping the other side from getting jealous. "Maybe it's because...we keep saving each other."

She grabs the back of Trish's head, feeling that tight braid in her grasp as she arches again, watching in awe. "Don't talk with your mouth full."

"Isn't this better than sneaking around?" The fondling hand leaves her chest, descending to greener pastures. Inquisitive fingers undo the top button of her jeans. The rasp of the descending zipper makes Jessica shiver, close her eyes again and hug, inhaling deep the smell of leather and musk. "Always having to be quiet...worrying Mom would hear us?"

That almost throws her, but they've already been roleplaying. And Trish never calls That Woman by anything but her not-so-Christian name. So, more with the sister act.

"Take 'em off." Trish doesn't sound cold or hard, or particularly soft or suggestive. A simple command, with immediate obedience expected.

Jessica struggles to comply, but it's awkward with Trish not letting her go. "You _could_ make this easier on me."

Trish opens her mouth. Then another slow grin spreads across her face, like Jessica's walked right into it.

"Careful what you wish for."

She almost makes the mistake of replying, but Trish is already moving. Turning around, sliding back, boobs and leather becoming lips. Trish smiles down at her, upside down once again, cradling her face.

"Take 'em off."

" _Fuck_ \--" She can't help the explosive exclamation; can't wiggle fast enough out of her too damp and way too tight stone washed blue jeans. Spreads her legs wide in a silent plea, feeling her flesh ripple and spread against the thin cotton.

"Oh, no." Trish is still smiling; laying feathery kisses all over Jessica's face, not letting her kiss back. "You don't get off that easy."

She doesn't have time to wonder. Trish is sitting up, pulling off her sheepy pajama bottoms and tossing them aside; nestling into position as her hands find Jessica's hips, fingers playing at the lacey strip on the edge of her underwear. Jessica moans again, muffled by the world of Trish enveloping her, opening up before her.

"No hands for you," Trish breathes. She lifts Jessica's legs, stripping her with ruthless efficiency, panties joining pajamas in a crumbled ball in the corner. "All hands for me..."

Jessica nearly screams at the feel of fingers testing the waters, teasing at the edges, spreading her apart. Stabs hard with her tongue; quick, darting strokes that steer clear of the swollen mass of nerves Trish is trying to grind against her.

"If you don't eat your meat..." Trish's giggle turns to a harsh gasp when Jess finds the right angle. Then Trish pushes deep, fucking finally; still too slow for Jessica's taste but they'll get there yet. She groans again, slowing her own strokes to a crawl.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Trish finally sounds breathless despite her obvious attempt to stay cool. Jessica must be on the right track.

She moans another _fuck_ into the depths of Trish's cunt, now wide open, for both their pleasure. "Who've you been practicing on?"

"Now who's talking with their mouth full?" Jessica can hear the devilish grin in that voice. "Just me, myself and I."

"You sure?" She smiles back, punctuating words with kisses. "All-American blonde like Simpson? Looks like just the type to be hiding a boypussy --"

"Shut up." Trish is aggressive, not angry. She sits down hard, pulling back Jessica's thighs to hold her open. "You don't need to say that."

More fingers; more of those fingers.

"He's not getting this."  
  
Her hips shudder, rolling upward, forcing Trish deeper.

"You are."

Her tongue is a blur, and their last vestige of control melts away.

 

* * *

 

Later, when she's on her hands and knees, Trish's hand buried in her up to the wrist, Jessica starts to worry about breaking something. The barbell Trish gives her to hold onto ends up crushed and bent almost beyond recognition.

"I can buy another." Trish is lying on her back, breathing slow and steady, holding her close. Jess clings to her, face buried in her own jacket, one leg thrown over both of Trish's.  
  
"Maybe..." Jess trails off, then gathers her courage. "You could talk to some more 'gifted' people. Find a stronger metal."

"And do what? Make handcuffs?"

Jess doesn't say anything as she smiles into Trish's chest. Trish sighs and strokes her hair.

"You are some piece of work, Jones."

Jessica snuggles in closer. "You knew what I was when you picked me up."

"When I first met you? I had no idea." Trish's quiet tone is deadly serious. "But I know what you are."

Jessica lifts her head, paranoia flaring deep within. "What's that?"

Trish holds her hand to Jessica's cheek, gazing up at her with equal devotion and pain.

"The best thing that bitch ever gave me."

 

 

**

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, and even if you're not familiar with the fandom, you may also like my Dark Angel femsmut [Friend In Need](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5573857). Show a dead fandom some love and hit a sista back, aiight?


End file.
